a little of this, a little of that

The Futile Search for Immortality all while some deny climate change

Upon reading an article in The New Yorker, six months after its publication, by Dan Chiasson, about The scrap poetry of Emily Dickinson; thoughts marched in and seized the space waiting for me to finish. I don’t know why these particular thoughts showed up at this particular time. This is not written in the style of Emily Dickison, because I could only dream of such talent, but were scrawled across the pages of the magazine much like scrap poetry. This is only more bad poetry from a mind that cannot contain the words and sounds that seige it –